


The Stream in the Woods

by OkieDokieLoki



Series: The Strange and Wonderful Life of Amelia Watson-Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Animal Transformation, F/M, Fawnlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Medical Experimentation, Post Mpreg, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 19:09:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OkieDokieLoki/pseuds/OkieDokieLoki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson was not easy. In a fit of teenage rebellion, Amelia Watson-Holmes finds that she should have listened to her father after all: "Don't wander into the woods."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this work after beginning Hay_Bails' "The Man and the Mermaid" - which is absolutely excellent! I was drawn to the thought of medical procedures that leave the recipient as a hybrid - half animal, half human, and how they would still be able to function. Then I stumbled across a fable about a magical stream that turned the drinker into a deer and this tale was born. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Prologue**

His blue eyes clouded as he looked down at the precious bundle in his arms. “Hello Amelia,” he murmured, leaning down and kissing the soft pink head of his daughter before looking up at his husband. “Isn’t she perfect, Sherlock?”

The tall man gave a small smile at the child that he had sired, resting in the shorter man’s arms, wrapped in a pink blanket. “Nothing is perfect, John,” he intoned, his deep voice causing the baby to sigh and wriggle closer to her other parent. John scowled at him, displeased by the lack of emotion that the younger man showed. The consulting detective moved to sit beside his little family. “Amelia is very close, though.”

The army doctor leaned against the slender man, glad that they had been able to do this. Have a child that was equal parts of the two of them. Glad that Sherlock had needed to lie low after that terrorist attack and that they had been relocated to his parents’ ‘cottage’ in Dartmoor. Lucky that they had stumbled into the woods and had drunk from that stream. It had to have been the waters it contained, he was certain, no matter what Sherlock claimed. Men do not miraculously become pregnant and carry a perfectly normal child for nine months, and yet, that was what he had done.

Of course, no one would know that. They’d claim that Harry provided the egg, Sherlock the sperm. The secret of the stream in the woods in Dartmoor would be safe with the two of them, especially since the effects on Sherlock were very different from the effects that it had had on him. He was reminded again as his husband’s nostrils flared and his eyes flashed. “She needs changing.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he responded, the whiff of dirty nappy becoming apparent a few seconds later. He stood and moved to the changing table, setting the beautiful little being down on the padded surface. “Full moon tomorrow,” he murmured.

“Yes,” the other man responded with an irritated tone. “I’ll stay in.”

John rolled his eyes, already thinking about the hair that was going to get all over everything. His husband, the part-time fox, the moonlight bringing his more animalistic form to catch up with his senses. John just hoped that their child had not inherited anything ‘magic’ from them. He whispered a prayer that she would be ‘normal.’


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

“Don’t wander into the woods,” her Dad always said. Her Father would just shake his head and tell her that her Dad was an idiot.

Amelia snorted at the memory, tossing her thick chestnut hair over her shoulder and stomped away into the dense forest behind her house. She did what she wanted anyway, that was how her Dads had raised her. Strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent. It broke her grandparents, all four of them, though they hadn’t approved of her fathers’ relationship either, from what she could deduce.

She sighed, shaking her head at the memory. Dartmoor was harmless, for Christ’s sakes. Nothing lived in the woods, all the natural predators had been killed off centuries ago as England was settled for the first time. Besides, the woods were quiet, away from her antisocial and insane sociopath Father and her overbearing, workaholic Dad. Especially when they were going at it - like they were today, resulting in her Father storming out. Either way, she needed to escape. She’d reached her majority, she was a legal adult, and she was going. _Suck on that, John and Sherlock Watson-Holmes_ , Amelia thought darkly, plowing through the underbrush.

The branches soared above her, their shared greenery covering the sky as her feet brought her further and further into the wood. The summer heat and humidity weighed down on her limbs, making her trek through the forest hot and rather uncomfortable. She began to regret her decision to leave home, especially since she hadn’t thought to bring anything. Well, she had - she’d grabbed her favorite paperback (A copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ ), about forty pounds, and made herself a sandwich before leaving. Everything else was traceable: her mobile, her laptop, her id and cards. The sandwich had only sat in her bag for an hour before she ate it, making her pray that she found the other side of the forest soon and, hopefully, a highway.

The babble of a brook caught her attention, drawing her to it, her throat suddenly parched. As she drew closer, the stream came into view. Jogging a bit through the thick undergrowth, she fell to the side of the water and plunged her hands into the cool, clear liquid.

“DON’T!” A deep voice cut through the forest as a few drops of water passed her parched lips. She swallowed the sweet liquid down her dry throat as a rustling sound reached her ears and her eyes closed.

___________________________________________

She blinked, an obnoxiously bright light shining into her eyes, making her groan.

“I told you not to.” The voice from the stream chided. She blinked again, turning her head to escape the light.

“Sod off!” she hissed, trying to roll over. Her head was pounding and her throat was still raw. Her body did not respond to her movement, instead, her limbs met with resistance.

“They’ve got us now, thanks to you,” the voice continued, accusatorially.

Amelia struggled against the restraints. “Someone should have been minding their own bloody business then!” She gritted her teeth, trying harder. The sound of metal on metal met her ears. _Handcuffs. I’m handcuffed to a metal bed_. The coolness of the metal was made apparent through her slight shifting movements. It was then that she realized that she was naked. “Give me back my clothes, you Perv!” she shrieked.

“Shut up!” the voice hissed, low and ominous though laced with fear. “They’ll hear you and come back!”

“What do I care? They’ll let me go then, you’ll see!” She was not going to be beaten by some handcuffs and the imbeciles who stole girls from the forests in their backyards.

“They’ll never let you go.” The voice was melancholic now, echoing about the space. “They’ve never let me go.”

A door clanged open on her right. “OI!” she yelled. “Who do you think you are? Kidnapping kids? This is bloody ridiculous!”

The sound of well-worn leather soles reached her ears. _Male. Six foot. 187 pounds_. The man that belonged to the body leaned over her, blocking the harsh light and making her blink. He was, sadly enough, rather handsome with his knife-edge cheekbones and light brown hair. His eyes, however, were dark, nearly black, and cruel. “Well hello,” the man’s mouth opened to reveal bleached white teeth in a sickening grin. Amelia’s stomach sank. I’m up the creek, she gulped. “Aren’t you a pretty thing?”

A long, thin, pale finger traced her cheekbone and her lips. She tried to bite it with little success. “And feisty!” the man’s voice was horridly cheerful. “Oooh, she’ll transition well, I’m certain of it!” He clapped his hands together gleefully, spinning away.

“Transition?” she whispered, thrashing about on the metal slab. “To Hell with that.”

“Oh, I’ve been,” the man said, his back still to her. “They didn’t want to keep me.” His chuckle sounded like an oil slick, too smooth to be real. “Dose her and tank her. Let’s see what the water’s brought us this time.”

“Hey!” Amelia yelled, watching the back disappear from her peripheral vision as her struggling began anew even as a thick sedative began to weigh down her limbs. “Hey! You can’t do this! You...you..yah...”

_______________________________________

When she woke up again, she was lying on a thin mattress in the semidarkness. She groaned, holding her still pounding head as her mind worked, trying to find the answers and trying to find away out.

“Glad to see you awake,” the first voice, the one from the stream, said, cutting through the darkness. “Though, it may be better if you’d never woken at all.” A faint rustle sounded to her left.

“Who are you and why are you stalking me?” she asked, shaking the hair from her face as she sat up, her feet connecting with cool tile, and squinted through the darkness to find the source of the voice.

“I’m Experiment 13,” the voice replied sadly, echoing slightly off the plaster walls and the tiled floor. “I had a name once. I think it was Greyson, but I can’t remember now.”

“How can you not remember your own name?” she asked softly, still looking into the darkness on her left. “Everyone has a name.”

“People have names, that’s true,” the deep voice replied. “I haven’t been a person in over a decade.”

Amelia snorted. “What do you mean, you’re not a person? You’re talking to me, aren’t you? Nothing besides people can talk.”

A condescending exhale followed that statement. “No,” he muttered, “I never said I wasn’t _ever_ a person. What I said was that I haven’t been a person in a long time. No thanks to Them. No thanks to their experiments. And no thanks to that bloody stream in the woods.”

“The one that you told me not to drink out of and I did anyway?” she asked, curiosity completely overpowering her fear over what she had done.

“Yes.” The thought frightened her and she gave up her quest for the source of the voice, her blue eyes dropping to the floor and the sliver of light that came into the room from the gap between the door and the floor.

“Who are they?” she finally asked, “And what are they doing to us?”

There was silence that greeted her questions. It stretched on for over a minute before the voice softly said, “They claim to be scientists. I think they’re psychopaths. They find people who have been exposed to...to magic, and transition them. _Realize their potentia_ l, as they like to call it. What they’re really doing is using the ingested magic to create commodities and hybrids. Half-human, half something else. Then they sell them - us - to the highest bidder.”

“Us?” she breathed, her heart stopping as a memory rushed to the fore of her mind.

_“Don’t ever go into the woods, Amelia!” her Dad, his face lined and weathered, chided. “It’s dangerous. It’s magical.”_

_“Stop it, John,” her Father interrupted, per usual, the image of reason. “Magic is just science we don’t understand yet.”_

_“Not helping, Sherlock!” Dad hissed, his blue eyes flashing dangerously before turning back to her and placing his hands on both of her slim shoulders. “Promise me, Amelia, that you will not go into the woods alone.”_

_She had no intention of doing that, so she crossed her fingers behind her back and smiled her innocent eight year old smile. “Of course, Daddy. After all, the Faeries might get me!”_

_“Yes, yes,” her Dad murmured, planting a kiss in her hair, “And your Father and I would be devastated if they did. The Faeries don’t share.”_

“Yes,” the voice replied. “You’ve drunk from the Stream of the Wood. The Stream of Titania and your magic will present itself, mark you in some way, and they will take you, and change you. As they did me and twelve others before me, and eleven others after me. You will be the twelfth.”

“Oh, yeah?” she said, her determination growing within her. “I’d like to see them try.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Three days. Three days and the only interaction she had was with the food tray, shoved unceremoniously through a hole in the door, and with the disembodied voice. Greyson continued to talk with her, telling her not to drink the water (It was from Titania’s stream) and describing how he escaped to find the stream again. Using his information, she began to concoct a plan.

“So, I wait until my magic presents itself and they decide what to do with me and then, when the door is open, we both make a run for it.” She grinned broadly. “I’ll incapacitate the guards and we’ll take their weapons. We make for the road and get back to Dartmoor where my Dads will call the police and the scientists will get arrested. That is, unless my Dad doesn’t kill them all first, or my Father doesn’t find us. It’ll work, definitely.”

Her companion was silent for a moment before exhaling. “Yes,” the young man ( _He was probably a child when he was taken, judging by the amount of food that disappeared while she slept, he was college age)_ , “You’ll get out and be safe. I’ll run the other way - distract them. I’m more valuable to them than you are at the moment. Most of them will chase me and you’ll escape.”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you talking about, Grey? I’m not leaving you here. That’s never going to happen.”

“It has to,” the voice replied. “I can’t go anywhere else. I don’t exactly fit in.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she snapped back at the darkness, angry that he was sacrificing himself for her. “I haven’t seen you. Besides,” she added, “You escaped once. Why?”

“To warn others about the stream. I had only been out a day and a half when you found it. And me. I was, obviously, _very_ unsuccessful. But, if you get out, you can shut them down and no one else will be transitioned.”

“What will happen to you, if they catch you?” she queried, trying to keep her sentiment at bay with little success.

“They’ll punish me,” came the obvious response, “Like they did the last time.”

“Did they beat you?” Amelia jumped up, anger flooding her limbs.

“No,” the man whispered, “They made more,” he gulped audibly, “Modifications.”

“How? You’ve been with me this whole time,” she replied, taking a step into the darkness that surrounded her companion.

“You were unconscious for nearly ten hours. They work fast.”

She stumbled over what could only be the food tray in the dark. “Ow!” she hissed, listening to the clatter of empty dishes and a very empty plastic water bottle. “You’ve been drinking the water.” It was a statement of fact, not a question, though it held the weight of one.

“Yes,” the voice responded, trying to appear smaller out of shame and in an attempt to hide the other occupant’s location from her. “It helps with the pain but it solidifies the changes.”

“Why do that to yourself?” she asked, her hands reaching out in the dark. She heard some shuffling to her left and began to move slowly in the direction, groping at the nothingness.

“Because I’m so far gone already,” came the barely audible response.

“No one is too far gone,” she replied with a small smile.

“Please.” It was a request, soft and terrified. He was begging her to stop, to leave him in the darkness, to forget about him. “I’m not human.”

“Greyson,” she whispered, hands still outstretched though she stopped her feet. “You’ll always be human, no matter what you look like now.”

Amelia wasn’t sure of how long she stood there, her arms outstretched, hoping that the man could see that she accepted him, no matter what he showed her. A faint rustling, joined by an even softer clicking noise pierced the silence. It was moving away from her.

“Close your eyes.” The movement stopped as the command was given.

“Why?” she asked, “I can’t see a thing in the dark.”

He sighed softly. “I’m going to step into the light and you will see me, as I have seen you.” Another click in the darkness, moving away from her. “Don’t open them until I tell you.”

“Fine,” she huffed, covering her eyes with her hands, suddenly becoming every aware that a man had been looking at her naked for the last three days. The clicking picked up tempo, as did the faint rustling noise. It seemed to take forever until it finally stopped, her curiosity peaked to maximum, her brain running thousands of deductions, each more ridiculous than the last.

“Open them.”

The first thing she noticed was that he was tall, taller even than her Father ( _Though he claimed that it was because he had a short husband and a great coat that everyone, in contrast, thought he was tall_ ). He had a thick head of curling auburn hair and deep blue eyes that caught the light that entered from under the door. It was only after that that she saw what they had done to him.

His body was lean and muscled, covered in what appeared to be markings like those of a young deer, whites and dark browns that appeared to be part of his skin. _His markings from the stream_ , she reasoned. His nose was slender but a bit flat at the bottom, where it turned black against his pale skin. His ears were rounded and stood out from the side of his head, curving upwards gracefully, flicking every which way nervously before flattening along his hair, their fur almost perfectly matching his hair color. A pair of small antlers poked out from his curls, each bearing two prongs under their velvet. Light brown, almost chestnut fur traversed his sides and down his arms, growing shaggier about the elbow, though his hands were free of anything heavier than a light dusting. His torso was bare until his waist, where the fur began again, growing shaggier as it progressed along where his ‘happy trail’ would have been and further down, covering his anatomy below, before shortening again over a pair of sturdy legs. Legs that looked like those of a sheep or goat or, if the pattern held firm, a deer. His feet were two large but surprisingly delicate looking cloven hooves. Amelia blinked, swearing that she caught the flicker of a tail as well, lifted nervously.

Greyson shifted nervously on his hooves, making the clicking noise on the tile. “I’m sorry. I-”

She furrowed her brow. “Don’t be,” she replied softly, taking a step forward. “You’re like a fairytale. So beautiful.” She took another step forward as the man took several steps back, out of the light, his head hanging low. “Please, Greyson.”

“No.”

“I understand now. I’m sorry for being so insensitive. I’m sorry for not listening to you in the wood. I’m sorry.” Amelia didn’t know what else to say. “Please, don’t hide from me.”

“That’s what deer do,” he replied softly. “Run and hide.”

She stood there in silence, digesting the words that her companion had just uttered, her mind whirring. “Why would anyone do this to another human being?” she asked the darkness.

“Because humans are cruel. Which is why you are getting out of here, Amelia.” He took a step towards her, his hooves clacking on the tile. “Before they take everything they can from you and you are left with no option but theirs.”

“And what option is that?” she asked, dreading the answer. “Some go to zoos, primarily in China, if they’re lucky. Others go to private collectors where they’re forced to do God knows what.” He paused, taking another step into the light, his silhouette playing off the wall by the bed. “Others become trophies, created to be hunted and killed for sport.”

“Oh no,” she murmured, a hand flying to her mouth, knowing exactly which of the three the young man across from her was. Without thinking, she ran to him closing the distance and winding her arms around his thin waist, tears playing at the corner of her eyes. “That’s not going to happen,” she murmured, surprised by the heat that radiated from his body and the silkiness of the fur that touched her bare skin. “I won’t let it.”

A warm, velvety pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her against him. “Unless you escape, it is inevitable. They will find a buyer and I will run and hide and die, as is my fate.” He leaned back, releasing his hold gently. “It will not be yours.”

She looked up at him, her fingers aching to touch his face and feel the fur there, run her fingers though his hair, along his ears, and over his growing horns ( _The obvious modifications he mentioned earlier_ ). “How can you tell?” she breathed, watching his muscles twitch under her cool breath.

“You’ve presented your magic. You are not a fawn.” He let go of her entirely and stepped out of her embrace.

“What am I?” she asked, terrified.

“A fox,” he breathed, turning his back to her and rushing back into the darkness.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

His husband was really beginning to grate on his nerves. The nonchalance that he was using to handle the situation at hand was obnoxious. As he paced, beating a tattoo against the carpet, certain that he was walking a hole through it, Sherlock was laying on the sofa watching crap telly.

“Seriously, Sherlock!” he snapped, stopping and turning towards his husband, his eyes hard. “Our daughter is out there! She’s been out there for FOUR DAYS! We should be out there, not sitting here watching crap telly!”

“John,” the dark haired man intoned, “She’s eighteen. She’s not that baby you carried any more. She’s legally an adult and if she wanted to leave, then she could.” He waved dismissively.

“But she left _without anything_ ,” he continued to grill the other man. “ _Everything_ is still here!”

“Maybe-” His husband stopped, sitting up, his eye widening as his brow furrowed. “Even her mobile?”

“Yes, Sherlock,” he restated slowly. “Everything is still here.”

The detective stood quickly and rushed from the living room, most likely to confirm that their child had left with nothing. Less than a minute later, the younger man was back, nostrils flared. “She’s gone.”

“Yes, Sherlock,” he sighed, “That’s what I’ve been saying for the _last four days_.”

His husband raced to the door, the doctor following quickly behind, and threw his coat on, flipping the collar up as he went. John grabbed his coat and the keys to the door, watching the detective whip his scarf around the column of his neck and followed him out the door.

The pair raced across the grass of their backyard and towards the one place that their little girl would have gone. After all, she was a product of it. The forest loomed before them and quickly welcomed them back, swallowing them into it’s dark green depths.

______________________________________

They came for her in the night. When the hands had grabbed her, she had punched up, her legs kicking, her body twisting, just as her Father and her Dad had taught her. She connected on all levels only to have the hands come back full force. A pair was wrenched off of her left arm with a startled yell. _Greyson_ , she thought, using her freed arm to take a swing at the man on her right. A sharp pain dug into the back of her neck, making her shriek and move her free arm to yank what could only be a hypodermic needle from her neck. The vial broke beneath her hand, glass shards filling her palm.

The wounded hand was grabbed again as an inhuman scream rocked the room, echoing and rebounding on her sensitive ears. Her limbs began to feel leaden, though she continued to writhe and twist within the arms of her captors. Her struggles were weaker, lacking the strength that the sedative was robbing her of. The inhuman scream came to an abrupt stop, making her last thought be one for her companion and not for herself and their failed attempt at escape.

______________________________________

“Amelia?” His voice was soft and hesitant, very breathy. She moaned, the sound sounding loudly in her ears. “No, no, no,” his deep voice, still soft replied. “Stay still. Rest.” She blinked, meeting his blue eyes drowsily. For once, the lights on their cell had been left on and they were almost too bright for her. “How bad is it?” she muttered, the drugs weighing on her tongue and her ears surprisingly sensitive.

He bit his lip and snorted, shaking his newly horned head, his ears flicking back and forth. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“My head hurts,” she mumbled incoherently, a pounding throb settling between her ears.

He smiled sadly, holding up a bottle of water. “Here.” When her brow furrowed in confusion at the offered water, he continued, “There’s nothing we can do about it now. It’s...” He bit his lips. “It’s irreversible at this point. There’s no point it hoping the graft won’t take because if it doesn’t, you...”

“I what?” she asked taking the water but not drinking it. “What did they do to me? Please, Greyson, tell me.”

The man didn’t say anything, pity and tears shining in his deep blue eyes. His hand, lightly furred, the skin beneath it spotted like a fawn, slowly and delicately reach toward her face, making her eyes widen. _My face_ , she thought self-consciously, _They’ve ruined my face_. Suddenly, the headache made sense. It had been her face that was altered. That, according to Greyson, would never go back to the way it had been.

One finger, tender and kind, traced her eye. “Your markings,” he breathed, distracting her as his other hand touched something else. Something large and thin on the side of her head, something that twitched subconsciously, resulting in a sharp shooting pain. “Your surgery.”

She took a shaky inhale and slowly raised a trembling hand and the sloshing bottle of water. She took a sip, spilling more than swallowing, and felt the magic within it this time, feeling relief. The pain lessened and the throbbing stopped as she sipped. She could almost feel the nerve-endings from the stolen ears connect with what was left from her human pair.

The fawn’s black nostrils flared, his ears flattening against his head. “What?” she asked, setting the water aside.

“Your scent’s changed,” he said, getting up and taking a couple of steps back along the tile.

“Well,” she exhaled, feeling exhausted, the drugs still lying over her like a thick blanket, “There isn’t anything that’s changed about me as a person. I won’t hurt you, Grey.”

“I know,” he whispered, looking down at his manipulated body, his ears flicking forward.

She smiled softly. “Thank you...for trying to save me. You could have run but you didn’t. So thank you.” She tried to reach towards him but her arm ended up just flopping off the mattress.

His brow furrowed. “I couldn’t leave you here, not when I know what They are capable of. What they do to people. Good people, kind people. I didn’t want you to experience it.” His impossibly blue eyes dropped back down to the tiles, his hooves shifting slightly. “I’m sorry I failed you. I wasn’t strong enough.”

“Grey,” she murmured, “You were so brave and so selfless, helping me. When my left arm got freed - I swore I was getting out. I didn’t calculate for sedatives, but if they hadn’t existed, we’d be long gone by now.”

He smiled, still looking at the floor. It was fleeting though, replaced by a blank mask. “They won’t stop.”

“I know,” Amelia replied, “And we’ll be ready for them next time.”

The faun gave a half-hearted chuckle and shook his head. He could read through her lie, just a blanket that covered her terror and fear. Nothing would ever be the same again, she just realized now, her new ears picking up on even the smallest noises from the hallway beyond their prison. Greyson breathed, “They’ll be ready.”

Amelia raised her arm again, the strength returning slowly to the limb. “Grey,” she murmured, “I’m cold.”

The young man stepped forward, his movement on his legs so graceful and fluid, it made her wonder when he had received them. His warm hand took her own, squeezing the fingers tenderly. “Shock,” he whispered, causing her ears to swivel towards the sound with a dull ache. It was strange and uncomfortable, feeling her ears move of their own accord, the nerves firing rapidly and subconsciously.

“Hold me?” she asked, curling inward against the sudden feeling of cold, loss, and despair. After a few seconds, he obliged, carefully laying down on the mattress behind her and pulling her trembling body into his warm and lightly furred chest.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sherlock, his nostrils wide and his eyes ever watchful, was easily able to track Amelia through the forest and to, inevitably, the Stream. He pressed his lips together. _Shit_.

“John,” his husband intoned, bent over a patch of ferns by the water’s edge, “You’ll want to see this.”

He waded through the overgrown greenery to kneel beside the crouched form of the world’s premier ( _And only_ ) consulting detective. “What is it Sher-?”

He stopped himself, looking down at the leather sack that rested in the reed. It was Amelia’s school bag. His husband’s dextrous fingers were poking through it, pulling out her worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ , old wax paper, filled with crumbs from a sandwich, and a smaller bag with forty quid. “She wouldn’t just leave this,” he muttered, standing and moving off (But not before thrusting the sack and it’s contents into the doctor’s arms). “Look.” His eyes followed the pointing finger and saw trampled undergrowth. “She was taken.”

The magnifying glass was out and the coat was thrown back, allowing the younger man to squat down and examine the earth. “Four men. Obviously surprised her and drugged her. No signs of a struggle.” He stood swiftly, putting the magnifying glass back into his kit and strode off down the path. “Do keep up, John,” he called over his shoulder, “Time is of the essence!”

_____________________________________

She had yet to touch her new acquisitions, though their random movements continued to be exceedingly distracting. Instead, she was gently stroking the fur on the haunches of the slumbering faun beside her, marveling at the life that she felt underneath, the hum of the pumping blood, the twitch of the muscles. While it was horrible to think that human legs had been there at some point, the adjustment that the man’s body had made was remarkable. Of course the magic helped, accepting it’s own, as it were.

The auburn fur, spotted white like a baby deer and going whiter around the front of Greyson’s lean body, was velvety and soft. It was surprising. She had been expecting rough, coarse fur, not silky smooth hair. _Does it all feel the same?_  she thought, thinking of the attachments on her head that continued to swivel absurdly.

Her gaze traveled upwards to find a pair of deep blue pools watching her, wide and wary. “I was ten,” he said softly (Her ears pricked up at the sound and moved towards it, making her grimace). “My older brother dared me to drink even though our parents had told us not too. So many stories and faery tales from Dartmoor, you know?” She nodded and he gave a small smile, looking off into the distance, as if seeing the past play out before him.

“I filled a tea cup and drank the whole thing and we went home. The next morning, I woke with the spots. My parents, not wealthy to begin with, trekked with me to every specialist in England - no one could fix the changes in my pigmentation. Until they found him, Dr. Richard Brook. He said he could fix me but my parents would never be able to see me again. They gave me away. I tried to be good, anything to fix me, to get me back to normal, To get me home to my family, so I told them about the stream. Now they didn’t even have to go searching for affected people. They had the source.”

He closed his eyes and sighed, bowing his head. “Hey,” Amelia said, placing a hand on his warm, semi-furred cheek. His eyes flashed open and his ears swiveled forward in shock. “None of that now, mister.” She gave a small smile, her other hand stroking his hip tenderly.

One of his hands joined hers, covering it with a gentle squeeze. “These came first. It’s how they’re proportional to the rest of my body. I experienced puberty with these legs, the growth hormones effected them too.” His hand squeezed hers again, sensing her pity. “Don’t be sad for me. I’ve had them longer than my human pair. They’re as much a part of me as anything else. Almost more so, really.”

She swallowed, looking away. “But the pain...the rehab...the physical therapy...”

Greyson cut her off. “All worth it, if only to walk about this cell until I’m sold and I use them to run.”

“Don’t talk like that,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face into the crook of his neck, where is scent was strongest. “We’ll get out of here.”

The faun did not respond verbally, instead, winding his arms around her tightly. He scented her, as she had done him, his black-tipped nose cool and a bit wet against her neck. It was oddly comforting, and she needed it desperately. If her fathers didn’t find her, there’d be no hope for them and they both knew it.

____________________________________

The compound was heavily guarded with twenty foot fences topped with barbed wire, military guards and attack dogs. It looked just like Baskerville had, all those years ago, but this time, they had a truly invested interest in the place. This time, it had taken their only child.

“What’s our plan of action, Sherlock?” the soldier asked, peering over the small hedge that they had ducked behind. “Are you going to pose as Mycroft and I’ll pull rank to get us in?”

Sherlock squinted at the fortress before them, obviously not hearing a word that he had just said. _Typical. Eighteen years of marriage and he still ignores every word I say_.

“Hmm,” the other man hummed before breaking his concentration. “What John?”

“What’s your plan?” he asked again, not hiding the aggravation in his voice.

“No need to be tetchy,” the taller man hissed, scowling. “We need Mycroft.”

“So we’re doing the you pose as Mycroft play - good plan.”

The dark curls shook in disagreement. “No, we actually _need_ Mycroft. He can tell us where she is and we can figure out how to get her out. No danger this time, John. No being reckless. We’re not thirty anymore and our daughter is in danger enough as it is.”

“I agree with you,” the doctor said, sliding back down under the bush and leaning gently against his husband’s lean side. “How soon can he be here?”

“Hopefully soon enough.”

___________________________________

If it hadn’t been for his niece, he would not have left his very important meeting with the German Chancellor for this endeavor. Amelia, however, awoke a sentiment in him long ago and the thought of her in imminent danger made him spring into action. One four and a half hour flight later, and he was driving through the untamed countryside of Dartmoor, watching the military testing facility bloom out of the horizon.

He cocked an eyebrow at his brother and his brother-in-law, crouched behind a small copse of young trees, as he passed through the gates (His ID was a thing of miracles) and into the compound. Turning off the car, he stepped gracefully from the vehicle and grabbed his umbrella, noting the general who was making his way towards him swiftly. The man, aging behind his thick, grey mustache and pristine uniform looked rather pissed off at his presence. He, however, had his Iceman persona firmly in place as he cooly extended a hand.

“Mycroft Holmes.” The man eyes the hand but did not take it, an obvious slight if he ever saw one. If the man ended not going to jail for whatever his people were doing to his niece, well, he would most certainly be demoted.

“General Charles Tarlton,” the man responded brusquely, “I’m the commanding officer of this compound.”

“I am aware of that General,” he replied, looking down his nose at the shorter man. “I am here as part of a routine spot check. Will you be showing me about the facilities?”

“We are exempt from spot checks, Mr. Holmes,” the general replied snidely. “I am here to tell you to get your rather large nose off of my base.”

 _This man is definitely getting demoted - ooh, a discharge would be better. Dishonorable, of course._ “Well, Sir,” he began, “I hate to inform you that, due to some suspect activity that has been brought to the attention of Her Majesty, the Queen, you will be having this spot check. If you do not believe me, feel free to give her a ring. I’m sure she’s not busy at all at the moment. Call Downing Street while you’re at it. I’m sure the Prime Minister would love to relieve you of your command.”

The man blinked dumbly, obviously not used to being threatened. With a small nod, he beckoned another man forward. “This is Corporeal Magnusson. He will show you about the facilities.”

With his greasiest smile, the elder Holmes brother replied, “Thank you, General, for your cooperation.”


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Initially, there was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a military testing facility that specialized in genetic mutation and gene manipulation. It bred the dogs used by the bomb squads, had amazingly resurrected the passenger pigeon (Among other extinct creatures), and had created the first cure for the common cold.

It was only once he and his tour guide were far below ground that things became less than kosher and highly suspicious. The employees here were trained doctors and veterinarians but did not touch the upper levels. Magnusson had stated that he barely knew any of them beyond their names and faces.

A surgeon, Dr. Richard Brook ( _Moriarty’s alias_ ), had approached him after tailing him for nearly twenty minutes through the labs like a shadow. “Excuse us, Corporeal,” he said, his voice soft and slimy, “I’d like to have a word alone with Mr. Holmes.”

He was led off into a dark observatory room that over looked an operating chamber. A procedure was well underway, though Dr. Brook would not let him close enough to see what was happening. The man cleared his throat, his nearly black eyes calculating him with a cocked eyebrow. “You are a powerful man, Mr. Holmes.” It was an obvious statement, so he acknowledged it with a slight tilt of his head. The other man continued. “I am the head of a team that creates things for people of your standing. People who want more out of life than the every day. Someone who views their daily interactions as boring and tedious.”

He raised an eyebrow, interested. “And what sort of things do you create, Doctor? And with what methods?”

The other man leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Believe it or not, Mr. Holmes, magic exists.”

“I am a member of the government,” he retorted, thinking of the supernatural that he had concealed for years, not to mention the miraculous circumstances surrounding his niece. “Of course I know that magic exists.” He paused, the pieces sliding together. “You use magic during your surgeries, don’t you? What does it do, Dr. Brook, create super soldiers who are nearly indestructible?”

“Take a look for yourself.” The man inclined his head and took a couple of steps back, so that he could see into the surgery.

A middle aged woman lay on the table but on closer examination, it wasn’t truly a woman at all. A long, scaled tail poked out from beneath the wet operating blanket. Her fingers were webbed and even her torso and arms, bare at first glance, was covered in fine scales. The doctors hovered about her head, her neck opened as they worked to insert something behind her ear. It looked feathery and soft and paper thin. _Gills. This isn’t a real mermaid - they don’t actually exist. She was created._

He pursed his lips together, hiding his horror and fear for his grandchild. “And how would one go about obtaining one of these miraculous creatures?” he asked, looking back at the doctor.

The younger man’s smile grew wider, making it look like a terrifying scar instead of a comforting expression. “If you have 50, 000 pounds I could certainly help you there, Mr. Holmes.”

“Are they all like that one, or are there other options?” he asked, quirking a small smile on his lips.

“Oh, there are options,” the doctor replied. “In fact, if you’d like to browse, please follow me.”

The door led him to a dark corridor, lights flickering on on either side of him, revealing rooms. Some (Most) were empty. The first empty one contained a pool, obviously for the woman who was being manipulated into a fish. The doctor led him onward. The next couple were free of occupants but the fourth had a man with large ears, a snubbed nose and longer than normal arms, with extra skin hanging off the appendages. _A literal Bat Man,_ Mycroft thought, appalled and fascinated at the same time. He shook his head slightly, trying to appear disinterested and was led further down the corridor.

__________________________________

She jumped up from the mattress when the light became infinitely brighter around her. “What’s going on?” she asked, shaking all over (A product, no doubt, from the added instincts of the fox she was becoming).

“People,” Greyson replied, nostrils flared as if trying to pick up a scent. She mirrored the action, not noticing anything different. “Buyers.”

She scanned the room, noticing that the wall that she had originally thought was solid was a panel of thick, bulletproof glass. Instantly realizing that she was wearing absolutely nothing, Amelia slid down the opposite wall and wrapped her arms about her legs, drawing them into her chest. Her new ears quivered, flickering every which way as did her eyes.

Her companion just stood, blankly staring at the still empty hallway beyond their prison. He looked resolved and resigned, like he had given up. “Don’t you dare!” she hissed softly, watching his ears swivel towards her, hearing her words. “Don’t you dare give up and leave me alone! I can’t do this alone!”

He gave her a small smile, his tail raised in a small, noncommittal wag before raising and revealing the white underside. _A warning. They’re coming_.

The two men who came into view could not have been more different. One, clad in a white lab coat, was Dr. Richard Brook, the man who had done this to her, to Greyson. The other, leaning casually against his trusted umbrella, was her uncle, Mycroft Holmes.

“These are our last two. Ignore the girl, she is new and not ready. The boy, however, is fit and ready to go. Perfect for an outdoorsman, such as yourself, Mr. Holmes. After all, who wouldn’t want a saytr for their collection?”

Her uncle’s unfeeling mask was in place, she could tell. It gave her confidence and hope that he was going to save her, save all of them, before it was too late. “As intriguing as that offer is, Doctor, I find the girl to be more to my taste.” He gave a creepy smile to the other man. “When will she be ready?”

“It could be up to two years, Mr. Holmes,” Brooks replied, her stomach sinking quickly at the thought. “You see, she is only one surgery in. To get a full fox-human hybrid, one will need to add a new nose -”

“Like the boy,” her uncle cut in, his eyes flickering over Greyson’s blank and empty face.

“Yes but slender like that of her animal, as well as claws and teeth and, of course, the tail and haunches. Those will take longer, as the fox needs to be grown to fit a human body before the hemicorporectomy can be performed. And then, of course, she will be rehabilitated. The boy looks and moves like he was born with those legs - she will be the same.”

“Fascinating,” Mycroft breathed, making her shiver. He was, of course, fascinated by the entire thing. “Well,” he turned to face the doctor, “I will need to talk with my family about getting something this...extravagant, but I feel that they will agree with me when I say, we will be seeing you again very soon.”

Greyson, not knowing that the man was going to save her, rushed in front of her, shielding her from their view with his head lowered slightly. It wasn’t much of a threat, his horns no longer than six inches at this point, but it was a threat nonetheless. She couldn’t see her uncle, but she doubted the gesture would go unnoticed. “I think we may want the pair.”

“Excellent,” the doctor intoned, their footsteps fading as they exited their part of the corridor and their light was dimmed again.

“Grey,” she murmured, placing a hand on his ankle, “We’re going to get out of here! We’re safe - we’re free!”

The faun turned around and helped her up, pulling her into his chest. He was shaking, obviously terrified at the thought of getting bought. She continued. “That man - the buyer - he’s my uncle. He works for the government! He’ll get this place shutdown and we’ll get out! He’s going to save us, Grey! It’s going to be alright.”

Tears sprang into her eyes as she looked up at the mixture of emotions that played across her companion’s face. _Terror. Hope. Uncertainty._ His deep blue eyes were clouded and tears had begun to fall. “We’re never going to be alright,” he whispered, “Never.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

“Repeat that again. Slowly,” he intoned, having already heard, but needing to hear it again, his sentiment begging for it not to be true.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said softly with a shake of his head, his own sentiment tugging at his moral compass as well.

“No.” It was the only word that John seemed capable of saying for the last fifteen minutes since they had heard the news. He wrapped an arm around the doctor who was shaking uncontrollably. The man was usually so unflappable that it was strange to witness his unravelling.

“Again, Mycroft,” he said, allowing himself to beg, just this once.

His elder brother sighed, taking his head into his hands. “She’s alive and we can get her out. That’s what matters.”

“But she’s not fine - she’s not normal,” he pestered, looking down at the photo his sibling had discreetly snapped.

“Sherlock, she was borne by a man for nine months and is half a Holmes,” he brother stated, leaning back in the arm chair by the fireplace in their cottage. “She was never _normal._ ”

“Yes, Mycroft, but she looked normal,” he whispered, a finger tracing over the ginger fox ears that poked out from his child’s hair as well as the black lines, like eyeliner, around her striking eyes. The eyes she had inherited from him.

“There’s more.” Mycroft delicately extracted the mobile from his grasp and flipped to another picture before handing the device back.

The image looked like something out of a children’s book. “Is that a....?” his whispered, looking closer.

“It was a person, Sherlock,” the British Government said, cocking an eyebrow. “That’s what’s to come if we don’t get her out of there.”

“You have a plan, yes?”

“I assume you do too?” He gave a single nod.

“Then, together, we should be able to get her, and everyone else out.”

“Everyone else?” John spoke something besides ‘no’ for the first time in twenty minutes.

“Oh yes, John,” Mycroft stated. “Amelia is far from alone. There are ten other hybrids, for lack of a better term, within the facility. I do not intend to leave any of them behind.”

“There is just one problem,” the detective cut in. “Once they’re out, what do we do with them? If Amelia is the closest to human they have, then I am afraid that none of them will be accepted into society except as a sideshow act or an animal in a zoo.”

“Let me deal with that, Brother Mine,” the other man smiled, a plan obviously percolating in his vast mind. “You concentrate on getting your child to safety.”

______________________________________

“Tell me about your parents.” The statement was tender but concealed a deep, overwhelming sadness that only a man literally given away by his own parents could express.

Greyson was holding her again, the temperature of their shared room cool, again making her loathe the cruelty of the scientists and doctors for leaving her without any clothes. Of course, her furry companion was also naked as the day he was born but his fur covered certain...things and kept him warm. Keeping those...things...in mind, she snuggled a bit deeper into his sparsely haired chest and furred thighs.

“They’re a perfect match really,” she murmured, sighing. “Even when they’re fighting.” She blinked, an ear twitching as it contacted his chin. “My father’s a consulting detective. The only consulting detective in the world. He doesn’t show emotion often. He’s really calculating and he deduces everything. Except when to stop arguing with Dad. He’s an ex-army doctor, general practitioner now. He’s definitely more parental - he never missed a thing I did at school.” She stifled a sob, really missing her fathers. The arms around her tightened. “I just really miss them. I-I ran away because they were fighting. My Father hates the country - not enough murders but my Dad loves it. I do too, or at least I did. Now I feel trapped. There’s no way I can go back to the city, not with...” Her voice faded out, thinking about the surgery and it’s twitching and shifting implications as well as the promise of more to come.

“Well,” her companion whispered, very aware of her sensitive ears under his chin, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Really?” she asked, looking up and meeting his impossibly blue eyes.

Greyson hummed, his flat, black nostrils flaring. “Most definitely.” He bent his head, capturing her lips with his. They were warm and soft against hers, making her moan, opening them to the man’s gentle tongue. _Because, no matter what he looked like, Greyson was a MAN._ As was evident of the hardening flesh that was pressed against her thigh.

He broke the kiss and released her gently. “Um,” he looked away, his cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry! I-uh...I’ll just...yeah.” He rose fluidly, turning away as he went, hiding his half-hard erection that was peaking out of his thick, long fur that grew on and about his hips.

She smiled softly, drawing her knees up into her heaving chest and touching her lips with a shaking finger. Her ears swiveled, drawing her attention there. It had been three days since they’d been joined to her body and she had yet to see them, much less touch them. Slowly, hesitantly, and tentatively, she raised her trembling fingers and brushed one of the tips. It fluttered against her finger tips, unused to the light touch. It was soft and warm, the fur felt silky beneath her fingers. It felt _alive_.

“You really are beautiful,” the faun whispered again, his hooves bringing him a couple of steps closer to her. “You were that first time I saw you, at the stream. You are now. You always will be, Amelia. No matter what happens.”

“We’ll get out of here,” she said, dropping her hand swiftly from her new body part, feeling them pull back in shame for being caught touching them before they flicked forward again, happy. She offered him a hand and a smile.

Greyson smiled back, taking her hand in his and kneeling beside her before sitting back onto the mattress beside her. “You’ll get out of here. You’ll go back home to your cottage by the woods with your fathers who love you. More than anything - that is obvious.”

She looked into his impossibly blue eyes and wrinkled her brow. “What about you? What are you going to do?”

He shook his head, his antler casting strange and terrifying shadows about their room. “I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”

She snuggled into his furred side, winding her fingers through his. _We’ll figure it out because I am not leaving you behind. Not now, not ever._


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Sherlock was fidgeting beside him. Mycroft had explained that they didn’t need to come - that they shouldn’t, seeing as they had magic within them. His husband, the daft git that he was, had claimed that you couldn’t tell that they had magic and, besides, they couldn’t leave their daughter in there alone. He was certainly not willing to leave their only child’s escape up to chance nor was he going to allow Sherlock to rashly run into a dangerous scenario without him and his Browning. No, just no. Not going to happen.

Which is why they were seated in Mycroft’s SUV driving through the gates of the facility. It reminded him very much of Baskerville, with it’s windowless buildings and the amount of military that ran about the place. He frowned. How could a government facility get away with human experimentation? Especially with people who had been taken against their will? Because Amelia, the intelligent young woman that she was, would not have volunteered to become half-animal.

When the car parked, he stepped down from the backseat and strode around to the front of the car. “Right, Mycroft,” he said, his army training kicking into high gear. “When will we be able to see the wedding present you promised us?”

It had been decided that Mycroft would continue to pose as a buyer as his men closed in, all highly trained operatives, their orders to arrest any that stood against them. He and Sherlock would pose as an older married couple who were looking to adopt a pet. One of high intelligence the Sherlock could approve of. It was probably a different situation than what this Dr. Richard Brook was used to, but they were buyers nonetheless.

“Oh dear Brother-in-law,” the British Government stated, looking down his nose at the shorter man (Again, part of the plan). His gaze flickered to the doors that swung outward to reveal a thin man with auburn hair and black eyes. The sight made him jump. The last person who had had such soulless eyes was Moriarty. _But he’s dead_ , he reminded himself before gazing at his husband’s brother. The taller man incline his head, raising an eyebrow. “May I present Doctor Richard Brook.”

He coughed a bit, returning his focus to the newest member of their party. “Pleasure to meet you, Doctor.” He held out a hand which the other man shook with a slimy smile.

“I hope that I will be able to assist you,” his eyes turned to Sherlock, “Gentlemen. Mr. Holmes informed that you’re looking for something...special.”

“Something that he promises you can provide.” His husband cut in, impatient to see their daughter again and to hold her in his arms. For a man who refused to display emotion, viewing it as a weakness, he certainly was sentimental.

The scientist’s eyes narrowed at the statement, causing the detective to continue. “My husband and I are coming to you because you are our last hope. Can you help us? We are willing to pay - whatever the price.”

“I just might,” the man said, turning. “Follow me please. You’ll find that we have quite a selection at the moment.”

The consulting detective glanced at him, his eyes widening before he followed. He trailed behind, glad of the comfort of the cool metal tucked into his waistband and hidden by his jacket. The doctor was largely ignored as he roamed the halls, the three civilians trailing behind him. He knew that the dark haired man was taking in everything that they passed, making note of what could be of use and what would present a danger.

Their steps led them further and further underground, past labs and surgeries until they finally were let through a heavy, bolted door. “Right through here, gentlemen,” the auburn man said, gesturing them through the door. “Do you have something particular in mind?”

__________________________________

The light in their room was turned up to high again, causing the faun and the fox to blink at the sudden intrusion of light.

“More buyers,” Greyson murmured, rising to stand again, blocking her from the view from the plate glass wall.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I have a good feeling about this one. We’re going to get out of here.”

“You’re still naked,” he said quietly blushing.

Wrapping her arms around his lightly furred waist, she smiled up at him and his handsomely marked face. “So are you.”

“I can’t have Brook think that we’re getting attached. He’ll take you away, modify you further. Or, finally ship me off to my fate.” His face was serious though his eyes were soft, betraying his feelings.

“Fine,” she hissed, and returned to her seat on the mattress, crossing her legs and covering her chest to protect her modesty.

Her ears swiveled, hearing four distinct footsteps echo down the hallway. _Daddy? Father? Uncle Mycroft? Definitely Dr. Brook_. She prayed that their salvation was nigh.

The steps grew closer and closer and her heart flew to her throat, pounding and threatening to fly out of her heaving chest. Greyson’s tail was erect, the white showing and revealing his fear. His ears were plastered to the side of his head. She could only imagine, living a decade in fear of the next procedure, the threat of being sold hanging over his noble head for every minute of every day, so long as he lived.

When her parents came into view, she barely resisted flying towards them. The only things keeping her from doing so were the presence of the scientist, the plate glass, and the two furred additions that were now attached, rather permanently, to her head.

“Oh,” her dad breathed, his hand flying into her father’s, giving it a squeeze. He was frightened and shocked by her and for her. She gave him a small smile, her lips tightly shut and her eyes wide. Her father’s face was blank, though his head was tilted, his mind running through a series of deductions, no doubt.

“I told you, Brother Mine, that you would find this pair rather pleasing. Don’t you agree, John?” Her uncle was smiling tightly in that know-it-all way that he usually used when he was addressing her parents.

Her dad was speechless, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. Finally, he was able to gasp, “Yes.” He turned to her father and stammered, “Th-that’s a-a f-faun.”

“Dear Lord, John. Don’t make an utter fool of yourself.” He turned to face the doctor. “Do they speak?”

“They understand, sir. The boy is nearly ready to leave. The girl will have to wait - she’s far from finished.” His oily voice caused her ears to flatten. A strong urge to bare her teeth swept over her, but she resisted.

“We’ll take them both as they are.” Her father continued, matter-of-factly.

“I can’t allow you to have an unfinished product. Besides, there is the exit examination that both must undergo. I would hate to have you get a faulty product.” His greasy smile was back.

“Exit exam? What exit exam?” her father continued to push the auburn haired man with the black eyes. “I want them as they are. Now.”

“Can’t do that,” the doctor said, a bit more forcefully this time. “Come back tomorrow. The boy will be done and he will be yours. If you have the money, of course.”

“Sherlock,” her Dad whispered, giving his hand a tighter squeeze.

“Fine,” her Father sniffed. “I’d like to speak with them. Is that possible?”

“Why?” Richard Brook seemed rather baffled and taken aback at the request. “They are animals, Mr. Holmes.”

“Doesn’t one get to know the dog in the pet store before one takes it home?” the consulting detective retorted, flashing a rather terrifying scowl.

The scientist did not say anything but took a couple of steps back, gesturing her parents towards the glass.

“You’ll have to forgive my brother, Doctor,” the British Government intoned condescendingly. “He’s always had a soft spot for animals, even when he was a little boy.”

A tap on the glass caused her ears (And those of Greyson) to turn towards the couple at the glass. “What is your name?” her father intoned, his grey eyes fixed on the faun.

“Experiment 13,” he said quietly. She heard her dad curse under his breath.

“And you?” The eyes that she had inherited were fixed on her, making her blush. Neither of her parents had seen her naked since she was old enough to bathe herself.

“E-experiment 25,” she said, hesitantly, not sure if she got the number right. Greyson gave a small nod of his horns. She had.

“Christ, 25!” her dad muttered, covering his mouth with his calloused hand. Her father cast him an annoyed glance and poked him in the ribcage. They had a cover to maintain.

“How would you like to come live with us? There is a nice barn on the property, should be fine for you. Plenty of grass. New fenced in yard.” There was something going for her Father’s ability to hide his emotions - he was able to pull of schemes like this one without his motives being guessed. Her Dad on the other hand...better in a fire fight.

Greyson gave a shy nod, probably wondering if her Father actually meant it. She smiled, breaking eye contact, attempting to appear shy.

“We’ll take them,” her Father turned from the glass. “NOW!”


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

When she came to, her ears were ringing to the point where she couldn’t hear anything else, but her eyes told her that she was home, tucked into her bed in the cottage. Her Dad was beside her, a hand pressed against her forehead and a smile on his face. He was speaking to her, probably in his gentle, doctor’s voice, but she could not hear what he was saying. She blinked a few times, giving him a weak smile before her hearing began to return.

“...My beautiful girl. My Amelia, Darling, we were so worried about you.” Her Dad paused, smiling brightly.

She swallowed, her throat dry. “Even Father?”

The older, grey-haired man leaned down and kissed her brow, brushing her hair away from her forehead as tears sprang to his blue eyes. “Yes, yes, Amelia.” He placed another kiss. “Even your Father, the git.” He laughed as he cried, holding her tightly to him and she grabbed onto him, allowing him to be her anchor for a time.

______________________________________________

The next time she woke up, a grey fox lay on her stomach, it’s head tucked under it’s tail. She jumped, amazed that the little creature had gotten into the cottage but fascinated by it at the same time. Her jolt awake woke it too and it let out a disgruntled yip before turning to look her in the eye, it’s head cocked.

She blinked. The fox blinked back, it’s eyes a rich heterochromia. The same heterochromia that she had inherited from her Father. It’s ears ears flicked towards her and she felt her own do the same. She smiled, tentatively, reaching a hand up to stroke it’s ears.

“Father?” she breathed, hand hovering over the little canine. It’s head rose slightly, bringing it’s ear tip in contract with her fingers. She traced the ear and found her hand on top of the little head. The fox made a quiet almost purr-like sound, closing its eyes and giving a canine smile.”Thank you for saving me,” she murmured.

__________________________________________________

“Darling,” her Dad said quietly, seated on her bed by her legs, “We need to talk.” Her Father, still inexplicably more animal than she was at the moment, was curled up in her lap. Still smiling.

She looked up at her Dad before looking pointedly down at her Father. “I’d say that, yes, we need to talk.”

Her Dad smiled and gave a dry chuckled, running a hand along the fox’s grey back before meeting her eyes. “We haven’t been entirely honest with you, Amelia.”

“You don’t say?” she responded sarcastically, cocking an eyebrow, her ears flicking back before swiveling forward again.

Her Dad gave get a gentle punch to her arm before starting again. “Nineteen years ago, your father and I had a bad run-in with a couple of terrorists so we came out here, to your grandparents cottage, to lie low. We went out into the woods, fending off your Father’s inevitable boredom, and found the stream. We both drank and, well, your Father is a werefox. He needs the moonlight to turn but his senses remain the same as they always do, no matter his form. They’re all heightened.”

“That’s why he’s such a great detective,” she whispered, stroking the fox’ head and ears. Her Father looked smug.

“Yes, yes,” her Dad, brushed the statement aside. “If you keep stoking his ego, he will never let us live it down.” Her Father yowled, nipping lightly at her Dad’s fingers as he scratched his back. The fox rolled to it’s side, submitting and allowing his husband to stroke the soft underfur that grew there. “He was not the only one changed, though mine was less noticeable. We didn’t realize it until nearly three months later. I had been ill most mornings and had still gained a bit of weight.” He smiled sheepishly. “Your uncle fixed me up with a doctor, and well, six months later, you came, screaming, into the world. I’ve never experience such pain or such joy.” Her Dad, reached up and stroked her cheek with a rough thumb.

“You, not Aunt Harry, carried me?” she whispered, smiling at the blushing man. He nodded, coloring another shade redder. “If the stream brought you nothing but joy, why keep me from it?” she asked.

“We never wanted you to be different,” he murmured.

“Well,” she shrugged, fighting back tears, “That didn’t quite work out, did it?”

The fox on her lap instantly snuggled deeper into her lap. Her Dad leaned over and wrapped her into his arms. “Darling Amelia, we will fix this. Your Uncle Mycroft is already looking at specialists. We’ll do something, anything you want. Either way, we love you, so very much, and we will support you in what ever decision you want to make.” His hand came up to cup her cheek. “You’re still so very beautiful. Always have been always will be.”

Something hit her like a ton of bricks. “The others?” she breathed. “Greyson?”

Her Dad squeezed her tighter. “Safe, or as safe as they can be. Most of them will not be able to reintegrate into society. Some have forgotten how to speak. Mycroft is trying to rehab them. He’s called in a lot of favors.”

“Grey?” she asked again, her eyes wide.

“He’s asleep in the next room.” He Dad smiled. “We couldn’t leave him. Not after everything he did for you, our little girl. The daft boy jumped on top of you as soon as the anesthesia gas was pumped into every tank. Not part of our plan, but it certainly helped with crowd control.”

Her tears came faster and fell harder in large, thick drops. She wrapped bother her parents into her arms and squeezed them fiercely, earning an undignified squawk from the fox and a large, sloppy kiss from her Dad. “I love you,” she murmured, allowing the phrase to become her mantra as the night drew on.

______________________________________________

He looked so peaceful, wrapped in blankets, his head propped up on pillows to relieve the pressure on his antlers. His ears twitched as he dreamed, mumbling softly. Unable to resist, she gently let one of her fingers trace one of the velvet-covered antlers before allowing her phalanges to play through his curls and into his fur. He smiled in his sleep before his impossibly deep eyes blinked open.

“Hey,” he murmured, his own furred fingers coming up to run along her jawline.

“Hey,” she murmured back, catching his hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you. Grey, for saving me.”

He gave her a lazy grin, still blinking the sleep away. It probably the first solid night of sleep that he had gotten in over a decade. “I believe, beautiful vixen, that you saved me,” he whispered, tugging her face down lightly and taking her lips with his.

She pulled back from the heat of the kiss, flushed. “I did nothing of the sort, my dear faun,” she giggled. “The men that _did_ happen to be in the next room, and, from what they told me, one of them is listening to every word that we’re saying.” She laughed at the thought, realizing that her life had never truly been private. Unable to resist, the man beside her let his joyous chuckle ring about them.

He reached up and pulled her down to lay beside him, on top of the sheets, just as they had done in the facility, the two of them drifting off to sleep.


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The morning light streamed in through the curtains and lighted on her face, waking her with a start. She jumped, ears swiveling of their own accord, as they had done for the last five years. The next part of her morning was equally predictable.

A pair of strong, fur-covered arms pulled her into a lightly furred chest and a very hairy abdomen. “It can’t be morning yet,” a rich baritone, courtesy of the mouth that placed gentle kisses along the back of her shoulders and neck, moaned softly. “Stay.”

She rolled over to face the handsome morning face of her husband. His deep blue eyes were gazing at her blearily but with so much love, she nearly stayed just for that. Of course, they were off-set and shadowed by his impressive rack of antlers (Majestic and ten pronged), the velvet covering beginning to shed for the summer. His hair was sticking up on one side, tangled in the points. His ears pitched forward under her scrutiny. “You’re so beautiful in the morning,” he murmured, a finger tracing one of her ears, tickling the fur, and running down her jawline to her chin, gently pulling it forward into a kiss.

Their lips brushed, stopped from deepening the kiss by a rather large object in their way. Two pairs of hands fell to it, stroking the vast roundness of her stomach tenderly. It had been a big decision for them, neither knowing what a child of their coupling might look like. Other couples from the facility had had offspring, though none of the couples consisted of two ‘Experimental Hybrids.’ It had been her fathers that had eventually convinced them that the child would be adored, regardless. Only a few more weeks to go, and Amelia could barely wait. She knew Greyson would say the same.

She stole another kiss from her sleepy counterpart and rolled from their bed, cradling the little life with in her. She began her day, as best she could with the extra padding in the front, smiling at the cottage that had become their home. A wedding gift from her fathers, though they truly would not have been able to live anywhere else. This was, after all, the community in which the ‘Experimental Hybrids’ had chosen to settle. The world knew of their existence, but no one bothered them. Many of their ‘kind’ returned from captivity abroad to be rehabilitated and to live as normal lives as possible within their little gated community. She was certain that her uncle was to thank for that, though some of the fervor had died after the first eighteen months and regular humans were welcomed into the settlement.

Tea fixed, Amelia waddled her way back into her bedroom and placed the mugs on the bedside table. “Grey,” she murmured, brushing her husband’s thick, auburn hair as well as the fur along his exposed back, “It really is time to get up. I’ve brought tea.”

He moaned, slowly rolling over and smiling at her. “If there is tea, then there is no way I can say no,” he grumbled, “Though another kiss might help.”

Rolling her eyes at him, she bent, as best she could, making him sit up to meet her halfway, and playfully kissed his thin lips. He smiled, more awake this time. “Have I told you how much I love you?”

“Not today,” she retorted, her lips still brushing his.

“Amelia Watson-Holmes,” he said sincerely, his eyes wide and gorgeous, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” she replied, allowing his arms, so strong and comforting, to wrap around her bulbous waist and pull her back into bed. As he did every morning.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been working on a sequel. Currently, it's hit a wall, but, eventually the creative juices will begin to percolate again! Fear not! This is not the end for Amelia, Greyson, Sherlock, and John :)

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock or the Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. I simply play with the characters provided by Conan Doyle, Moffat, Gatiss and co.


End file.
